


You, Timebound

by Crescence



Series: Et Nos Vivet [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Established Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Ignoct Is Safe, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sort Of, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescence/pseuds/Crescence
Summary: I was meant to die,he tells him.By whose will,he asks, pained, fierce, indignant.You have every right to live, Noctis. None of this should have ever been your burden.This. This had been what had saved his life. The Astrals had never had a chance against Ignis Scientia.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Series: Et Nos Vivet [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821565
Comments: 19
Kudos: 99





	You, Timebound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acinnamonrollwithsomesin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acinnamonrollwithsomesin/gifts).



> [Song Suggestion](https://open.spotify.com/track/6oVhL0lLUMswqSV3VcKwJO?si=hgSN_CVVTEKTuHM_KaeIqQ)  
> 
> 
> z  
> Continuation of [You, Echoed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24945400) but can be read as standalone.  
> 

Companionship, for them, is a language nearly as old as they are. They know how to live around each other. Every moment they occupy the same space is a dance of gestures and movements ingrained in memory. Ignis reaching over him for a pen on his desk. Noctis leaving the door open behind him for Ignis to come through. Ignis tapping his shoulder mid-step to fix his tie, as if it’s all rudimentary. Theirs is a life, split in two, woven together with quiet consideration and fluent understanding. From sharing the same apartment for long years to calculations of battles they had learned to move in unison, there is effortless ease in which they exist within each other’s space.

The intimacy is new. A silent plea of a prayer neither had voiced for years, now their reality. They test it without urgency. Fingers grazing along the sharp edge of a jaw, deep breaths drawn in night-black hair, an embrace blooming from behind, flush and inviolable as they gaze at their reflections in the mirror. Candles burn out as they kiss, slow and interminable in the chill of winter midnight. Noctis memorizes the ridges and the feel of the scars on Ignis’ face, his tongue drawn to the notch on his lower lip every time he lays his eyes on him. Ignis, in return, takes his time tracing his fingers along the veins on his hands, green eyes intent under firelight, his touch deliberate. They learn to seek each other’s warmth under soft Duscaen wool blankets in front of the fireplace in the King’s royal wing, so in tune, words often redundant.

Even in the familiarity of their shared life, the weight of loss holds them both in its grasp. They bargain with the stars for a moment of rest, both haunted by nightmares neither know how to evade. Noctis relives deaths he could not prevent, knotted in a massive web of unsorted grief he never had a chance to extricate. Each one, both a decade and a few months old as he exists ineluctably in two times, deprived of ten years of his life. Ghost voices chase him across the edge of his memories while visions of his own death defy reality. Revenants of the long-gone drain the blood from his veins in the dead of the night, filling his lungs with ice as he chokes awake. Ignis pries his fingers from his face when he tries to hide it away, his voice an anchor, reminding him to be, to feel, to let go.

In his own prison, Ignis tries to forget the feel of fire in his hands, the only light in a decade of darkness spent among ruins and monsters. Screams of the Kingslaive echo in his dreams as they fall, the memory of lone hunts where Mindflayers’ cold magic had seeped into his heart, ever hungry for those most intimate of fears, the darkest of admissions, the deepest of aidos and tangling with visions of Noctis, dead, impaled at the throne by the sword of his father. Pryna’s favor, both a warning and a curse, is a deafening silence stretched across his days. It only quiets when the blue of his eyes finds his.

Ignis doesn’t know if they will ever heal. He knows in his bones that he would give up his life, once more, if it meant that Noctis could sleep again but there is no divine magic left to mend the wreckage of their lives. No blessings will arrive with the scent of sylleblossoms to conciliate the darkness that lurks behind his King’s eyes. They live, barely, in the aftermath of the folly of Gods. Gods that were meant to protect them. Beneath his sharp suits and impeccable conduct, Ignis burns with rage for the hand his King was dealt with, for the life robbed of him, for the pain razing him from within. Off all the Gods of yore, not one could still command Ignis’ esteem.

Noctis holds the throne with a gentleness none expected of him. His father's grace is in his every move, the wisdom of a hundred and thirteen kings in his every decision. He stares into the proud eyes of his Shield and his heart breaks at not being able to tell him, _look, I finally know how to be King._

* * *

He doesn’t know what triggers it. Maybe it is the warmth of Ignis’ arms around him. Maybe it is the ambers of vermillion casting flickers of light across the arches and beams of his room in the quiet of late evening. Maybe it is the dreamless respite he found for a few hours without the voices following him. Maybe it is the sudden realization stealing his breath away at the edge of consciousness that he is alive, he is back, he is with him.

He awakes to his eyes, the deepest green of gold inked marble, mere slits behind lids heavy with sleep. And desire explodes inside him.

Before intention builds itself in sound, before his somnolent heart can catch up with him, he takes his lips. His hands bury themselves in light brown hair, his whole body reaching. Softest of moans reverberate against his tongue, long fingers hold his face and Ignis responds to him, aflame the moment Noctis’ hands burn their paths across his skin. It takes all but a second before tact and control shatter in the space between their lips. Sheets ripped off, their limbs tangle, caution abandoned to the rush of a decade-old hunger, suddenly unbearable, intolerable. They slide in place, every inch of skin burning beneath their clothes, and Noctis leans in, his shock of a gasp breaking against the graze of his lips at the first roll of his hips. Ignis’ voice finds him, a whisper of fiery veneration, _Noctis._

There is nothing in memory or darkness as they move. Nothing but one another exists across Eos, the whole world deserted and bare in the quiet of the night. Fire cracks in the hearth, time stills around their gasps, and in the dim of firelight, Noctis shakes against him with the surge of searing need. Flush chest to chest, he gazes into the emerald fire in Ignis’ eyes as they chase the end of violent heat spreading like wildfire with the friction of each grind. He holds his face in his hands, the whole life of him his one wonder, only blessing, his undoing. A trembling kiss, another roll and Ignis arches beneath him, knuckles white around a handful of Noctis’ hair at the nape of his neck, and his other hand grips the sheets, head rolling back. Noctis can’t breathe watching him, his name pouring from his lips as he presses them to his pulse throbbing erratically in his throat.

 _Don’t,_ Ignis gasps, delirious at the brink of release, _don’t stop, Noct, please, don’t.. stop-_

The fire consumes them both.

* * *

Ignis finds the beat of time in the feel of Noctis’ heart against him. His entire body aches with white-hot pleasure, the marrows of his bones smoldering with its heat. Winded and dazed, he relives the whole thing, something he had only ever had glimpses of in his dreams when he had no control over his thoughts; when the visions of Noctis would jolt him awake, the longing so sharp, it'd bring him to near tears. He cradles him in his arms, nose buried in midnight hair, breathing him in. The ocean of emotion in his chest presses against his ribs, pulsing against his larynx. He loves him with every last filament of his being.

 _Did I hurt you,_ Noctis asks him. Ignis feels the worry in his embrace as he hears it in his voice.

 _No, of course not,_ he assures him, carding his fingers into his hair, lips against the crown of his head. _It was rather unexpected but… extremely welcome,_ he smiles even though he knows Noctis can’t see him. He feels dizzy with the memory of his weight against him. 

_I don’t know why I-,_ Noctis murmurs. _I just woke up… and it hit me._ His fingers trace along the length of his arm. _You are here._ They slide into the crook between his arm and his waist. _That I am here._

 _Yes, you are,_ Ignis draws a long breath, filling his lungs with him, resting his hand on Noctis’ back, where he knows old scars still tingle with phantom pain. They lay in silence, hearts finding their rhythm as the fire in the hearth continues to dim.

Like the lazy descent of an avalanche watched from afar, the quiet slowly shifts around them. Ignis notices at once when Noctis’ arms tighten around him, chin tucking in, his head turning. Ignis knows this. He knows Noctis. A gentle hook under his chin and he lifts his face to find his eyes, the pale blue glinting like flintstones in the shade of firelight, haunted, drifting. He knows he won’t share his pain; he won’t drag Ignis into the darkness holding him. He knows his ghosts have caught up with him.

Five months ago, staring into the eyes of the man he had loved his entire life, lost to him for ten years of unforgiving darkness, Ignis swore an oath under the angry white lights of Hammerhead that he would never let his King walk into hell alone again. No heavenly power would ever have dominion over his fate, no prophesy would ever deprive him of his choice, he would never again let his life be a chip to bargain. Whatever he was, whatever he could ever be, he would spend himself to his last breath to give Noctis the life he was told he wasn’t meant.

 _Let’s go for a ride,_ Ignis tell him.

* * *

The King and his Hand walk past the Crownsguard into Citadel’s garage. Hand over their hearts, they salute their King, eyes fixed straight ahead. Noctis aches with the memory of having to sneak past them, when the biggest fear of his life was getting caught by a guard as he tried to leave the palace without permission. The irony almost makes him laugh but he holds it back, afraid laughter would not be what came out pouring.

Where the Regalia used to be, sits a Maybach Exelero, coated with black matte paint and bearing the Lucis insignia across the hood. Ignis sits at the wheel and between the hum of the engine and the parade of street lights across the windscreen, Noctis closes his eyes, head leaning back against the passenger’s seat. His skin still feels tender with the memory of Ignis against him, his smell sits like fog behind his rib cage, his hands singed with the feel of him. He wants to make him stop the car by the side of the road, clamber unto his lap and unravel him by every inch of his skin until his fire burns every last shred of thought, swallows every shade of the darkness spinning webs inside him.

But he knows he is no longer twenty. He knows magic no longer exists. He knows if darkness was so easily defeated, he wouldn’t have been asked to die for Eos to see the sun rising.

Ignis doesn’t tell him where they are going. Noctis doesn’t ask. They cut through the night like an oil spill, headlights reflecting off the glass facades of sleeping buildings; a raven with moonlight gleaming off its beak, yearning for the sky it cannot reach.

Ignis reaches for him and cards his fingers through his over the center console, dark eyes fixed ahead, elbow propped against the door. As the lights of the city shrink in the rearview mirror, Noctis watches him. Of all his friends, ten years have been kindest to him. Sharper features make him a deadlier invitation. Green eyes, no longer shielded behind glasses, contain the kind of quiet strength that could fill the entire basin of the Cygillan Ocean. His palms are hardened with a decade of fighting with his daggers while his King had slept as nothing but a notion. Noctis wonders how many new scars he will find across his body when he rests lying against his chest with nothing in between. He wonders how many of them he could have prevented had he been anything but a dream.

Deep into the night, Ignis stops the car at the hill Noctis stood on ten years ago as he had watched the fall of Insomnia, his father dead behind its walls. Of course, Ignis had brought him here, where everything had started. What better place to fall apart than the one spot his pieces still lay scattered among piles of ash and stone drenched in daemon blood. Bathed in the delicate silver of half-moon, the hill betrays nothing of the destruction it stood witness for a decade.

Noctis gets out of the car, shivering in the cold winter chill and walks to the edge of the precipice. Lights of the city blink in the distance, sparks of gold across the Lucian Sea. Ignis stands beside him, a force of gravity heavier than the pull of the fall he won’t cave in.

 _I was meant to die,_ he tells him.

 _By whose will,_ he asks, pained, fierce, indignant. _You have every right to live, Noctis. None of this should have ever been your burden._

This. This had been what had saved his life. The Astrals had never had a chance against Ignis Scientia.

Noctis raises his hands in front of him, stares at the pale mark left behind by the Ring of the Lucii, his one, and only matrimony. His throat constricts, hands shaking, pain spreading like an ink drop in the meat of his heart.

 _I don’t know how to catch up with you,_ he cracks. _You are all… ten years ahead and I am just… stuck… I don’t know how... to move on… I can’t… bury it down… the things I’ve seen… the Crystal…,_ his hand clutches his chest, tears in his eyes. _The sword… I can… I can still feel it in there… even though it never happened… Prompto tortured… you… blind… I don’t even know what to grieve… so much loss… everyone… gone… Luna… Dad-,_ he heaves, unsteady, his heart seizes, the pain implodes so deep within, it makes him gasp. Ignis reaches for him as Noctis falls to his knees, an ocean of sorrow breaking through walls he had built with pieces of his own heart, spilling out, suffocating him. He shatters into sobs that roll through him in breathless agony, razing every last bit of restraint left in him as his hands clench around Ignis’ arms wrapped around his chest, holding him together. Within the cage of his hold, his cries fall into the frigid night, the whole of Ostium Gorge trembling under their weight.

* * *

In the backseat of the Maybach, Ignis holds him in folds of fleece, the heater whispering warmth as Noctis shivers with sighs rocking through his body. Face buried in his neck, he cries until he is spent, exhausted, empty. The half-moon withdraws in sorrow, stars rolling across the night sky as dawn gathers below the horizon. They watch the light seep into the blanching dark over Insomnia through the windscreen, the quiet of impending dawn holding them in its pale grasp.

 _I should have told you sooner,_ Noctis whispers to him, his voice hoarse with hours of crying. He places a hand over Ignis’ heart. _How I felt._

Ignis cards his fingers in his hair, pressing his lips to his forehead, the kiss of rain in a summer evening. _I have known it longer than you have,_ he breathes into his hair. _I didn’t say anything either._

 _It’s not the same,_ Noctis answers him. _I was the Prince. I should have._

 _I honestly…,_ Ignis draws in a tremulous breath, encroaching dawn swims in his vision. _I never thought it was possible… never allowed myself to think it could be._

 _Ignis,_ Noctis curls his fingers around his neck, pulling himself up to find his eyes. He leans his forehead to his, tired blue eyes bright. It’s always the sky Ignis finds in his eyes, expansive and without end, where his thoughts have forever wandered, where his heart had found a home, his soul had renounced all of life bereft of its light. They are the sole reason he could never bear to lose his sight. 

_I was resigned to it,_ Ignis whispers to him. _If I could be near you, it didn’t matter._

Noctis places a hand on his cheek, the sky in his eyes aflame. _All these years… I could have had this. I could have had you._

Ignis holds his wrist, drawing him in until they breathe the same air _, you have always had me._

 _I don’t regret last night._

_I know._

_I'd wanted it for so long... all I could think was… how much time I have lost._

_We'll have so much more._

Noctis bites his lip, fresh tears drowning the sky in his eyes. _Can I…,_ his voice breaks as his chin trembles through quiet gasps. _Can I want that,_ he finally asks and Ignis sees him as he first met him, shy and innocent, heart open like a rift into heaven. How hope and excitement had flushed bright in his eyes when he had taken his hand and it nearly breaks him apart to hear him ask now, nearly thirty years later, if it is okay for him to live past his predestined end.

 _Noct_ , Ignis pulls him into his arms, his own vision blurred with tears. _Yes, yes you can._

* * *

On the way back to Insomnia, Noctis falls asleep in the passenger’s seat, head leaning against the door, enveloped in the blanket, breathing deep in dreamless oblivion. The sun breaks over the Citadel in the distance, its golden light blinking off its glass height. The city glows in silence to the return of its King. 

The newly erected statue of the 113th King of Lucis casts its shadow on the stone pavement in front of the Citadel. Ignis stops the car before it and steps out, Noctis still sleeping. Carved into burnished Lucian bronze, King Regis Lucis Caelum stands ten feet tall, a few steps away from where he had bid his son goodbye. His hands rest on the hilt of his sword lodged in the ground where Noctis had defeated the Pyreburner. Ignis stands at the base of the statue, his hair caught in the wind, green eyes jade bright in the winter sun. He raises a hand to his heart and bows before the late king. His benediction lost to all but the brumal wind.

**Author's Note:**

> I used to live in words. It was my comfort, my escape, a paintbrush to create worlds I could hide my thoughts without fear. I lost them in the haze of medication.    
>  I will never be able to explain what it means to me to get them back.   
>  I am sorry if it's disjointed or messy in parts. I still draw blanks sometimes. 
> 
> I will give Noctis the life he deserves even if I have to dig the words from the ground.


End file.
